Wolf And Owl Take Shape
Smoke and red cinders rise together in retrograde simplicity
On counter rotation, winds sing through birch and oak
Marbled moon remains sour yellow through the ecliptic edge
Cryptic night, where owl and wolf find warmth and cover
Nestled in the coarse blanket warn by Tabitha, the young one
Her tribe sleeps through winter
She holds them in her mystic spell, mild heart and smile
They breathe cold mist together in history hallows
Unfolding cold reveals their open eyes
Reaching out into the distance as wolf howls
Unknown mysteries of life feel their kinship
Heaven opens up to them crisp on the fire light
Wolf moves his wool but only slightly in a twitch
Owl takes flight, returns alarmed
Back to the blanket and young girls arms
It rests with comfort feathers by her heart
Wolf and owl take shape, Tabitha smiles
They all take one long last breath and hold it in
Wait till spring to release it again below the mystic stars
10/17/14 Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun – Poetry Contest

Far from the town and its bustling throng
knowing just where to go,
Sister and I are walking along
a pathway in the snow.
Down by the lake and over a fence
are hungry ducks and geese.
To their clamor we give audience,
watching their flock increase.
Off comes my muff, for I have brought
what they love to be fed.
I hold out my hand then as I squat
to toss them crumbs of bread.
Those ducklings and geese can’t get enough,
but new snow fills the sky.
My frozen hand goes back in my muff,
for no more crumbs have I!
For the Let it Snow Contest
Based on the first picture: George Dunlop Leslie's Winter Walk

Linda-marie the sweetheart of PS
Sweetheart, a compound noun made of two nouns
Used with a difference, I found some synonyms
The qualities that give joy to senses-BEAUTY
The qualities that knocks you out-KNOCK-OUT
Drinks are scarcely my DISH
My neighbor is quite a LOOKER
My girl friend is a hell of LULU
Helen of Troy was a SMASHER.
Cleopatra, at an early age, was a MANTRAP.
Ophelia of Hamlet was STEADY
Julia Roberts is quite a SWEETIE.
Ron’s favored person TRUELOVE .
She is classy gentle soup woman to me,
To be diabetic, don’t be too sweetie.
Dr. Ram Mehta
===============================
Fourth place win in
Contest : Sweetheart of PS

Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB

Bursting from within the heart of a blizzard shock wave,
Shutters the flexing eye of this white hurricane storm,
Shattering the inner core into a blazing shards torrent,
A miracle of utter mystical enchantment occurs,
In this ancient incantations sacred spell.
It is a crystallized super nova’s raw force, exploding from
The inner guttural roar of nature giving birth, to
The snow bird of paradise.
In its translucent chamber egg of ice, resting in the
Diamond dust covered nest, lined with crystal frozen gems,
Shimmering beneath the chilling Artic sun, as the
Freezing embrace of mother earth, rocks her starling,
Kindred off spring, waiting, are anticipating its hatching.
Ever tenderly the life within stirs, as if a captured moment
Of purities grace, encapsulated in brilliance opulence,
The shells shard melts away, in a hushed display of beauties
Refinement and complete elegance.
Nature itself seems to hold its very breath, as the
Snow bird rises, for the first motions step, in a swaying
Waltz of harmony.
Behold the snow bird strides forth, fanning her plumage
Behind, a white laced peacock is exposed, unfolding its winged
Feathers delicately, one by one, until the colors
Reflect the light rays from the polar sun.
Gleaming in radiance, the fineries majestic appendages
Sparkle with razzle-dazzles adornments, yet the winds brush
At her downy softness, as if caressing the fleece of a new
Born lamb’s wool, ever so gently.
Plumages lace of snowflakes spread wide, in a splendors display
Of glitz and glamour, as the fluffy strains ripple in the night winds
Whispering, come along my beautiful creation, it is time to warm
My soil with springs everlasting promise, once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

At last,
winter has come
tonight
Nightlights
are woven in
the sky
Skylarks
have flocked to
their nests.
Nestled,
they take rest in
the trees
Treetops
shelter them from
the chill
Chilled air
rocks them to sleep
again
Against
north wind, comes a
new snow
Snowflakes
fall gently, on
their dreams
Dreamland
waits for them at
first light
Lighter,
are all hearts on
Christmas
______________________________________________________
For the "Mussetle Train Contest:"
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
12/14/14

Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes,
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.
Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…
Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.
Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,
remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water
ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk
that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.

SET A DRIFT
By: Kitty Jones
11-19-13
Set adrift a snow bliss wounded and laying on the ground
An extreme love so painful, yet beautiful to be found.
Torn and broken I’m masterfully slain
my heart and emotions are in sensuous pain.
The touch of your hand upon my cheek burns me to my soul
Holding me with a master’s touch, your heart is never cold.
Painfully beautiful setting a bliss.
I’m lost in array within your kiss.
Kissing me with the tips of your lips and having your way with me
Turning me lose letting me go but never setting me free.
Set adrift a snow bliss wounded and laying on the ground
Searching for the pieces you’ve scattered all around
Shattered moments of ecstasy lost and gone forever
Never knowing where they went or if they’ll come back ever.
Leaving me here to die on my own every time you escape
Is it lust that brought us together or was it really fate.
I love your washboard stomach and your sweet masculine thighs.
I am looking at your body but I’m totally lost in your eyes
Set adrift a snow bliss wounded and laying on the ground
I’m searching for all the pieces that you’ve scattered all around.
My memory bliss is telling me I’ll never be your wife
Although it’s very painful I want to be part of your life.
My memory bliss of touching you is driving me insane.
My memory bliss of kissing you while dancing in the rain
In my heart I know there’s someone else that you are holding near.
For when you wrap your arms around me I can tell you have some fear
My body thrives to be with you, it throbs at just your scent.
Knowing I can never keep you the pain grows beyond intense.
Set adrift a snow bliss wounded and laying on the ground
I’m searching for all the pieces that you’ve scattered all around.
Set adrift a snow bliss inhaling you like a do
I wonder if that’s how she felt the day you said “I do”.
The moments together we’ve shared in life
I wonder have you done the same with your wife ?
There doesn’t seem to be enough time to diminish my pain for you.
It’s a miracle I’ve survived the loved you’ve put me through
Set adrift a snow bliss wounded and laying on the ground
I’m searching for all the pieces that you’ve scattered all around.

Alone I sit
staring at the cold grey sky
All around
winter's handiwork
so silent
so beautiful
fills the land
Drifting lazily upwards
pillars of smoke
rise ghost-like
from the chimneys
On the ground below
the freshly fallen snow
so quiet, so fragile
instils deep peace
within my soul
Standing alone in the distance
a church steeple
points majestically towards the sky
in silent testimony
of its God
Nothing stirs -
the sparrows have gone to bed
this cold winter's evening
dreaming pleasant dreams
of tomorrow's spring
when new life will take form
in Nature's world
or perhaps they dream
of yesterday's summer
when they flitted happily
from tree to tree
dancing in the sunshine
so happy to be alive
and free
Yet, dream on
my little friends
for even while you dream
cold winter must reign
a little while longer
still blessing the earth
with her deep silent beauty
--- as now the snow begins to fall
once more

The academy of long winter grass,
an education in the backyard.
I always thought I was better
than the sparrows,
thought nothing
of that black cat
looking for his lucky break
on our porch,
the neighbors’ bastard dog
at the fence playing puppy.
One day our cousins visited us,
all dressed up in percale linen
and sailor suits,
little wealthy angels
gleaming in the sun.
“ Careful for the grass. It is wet,”
I said to them.
My uncle ordered fish and chips.
The cousins fed
the old changer cat
some of their fish,
the dog got some chips
and the sparrows the last crumbs
of Portuguese buns.
How long I lived on liverwurst
and happy bread,
how these stray animals
shared in a take away luxury.
I was no different from them.
I have been instructed on poverty.

"I stabbed a faggot
in the knees", he whispered.
I wanted him
for bait
To catch some
bigger faggots,
from a pile of
Growing stubble heads
and high-heeled masculinity
They twist,
so I unhook them
to sea [see].

A mass of twirling branches
The sleeping Mulberry tree
Has dropped her load to rest a while
Her form intriguing me
A month ago she looked so grand
With her mass of dark green leaves
But now her branches gnarled and bent
A wondrous pattern weave
I bought her thirteen years ago
My weeping Mulberry tree
I’ve sat and watched her all these years
And I have looked to see
So many birds of different hues
Using her as their resting place
To shelter from the predators
Or for a while to laze.
So many times I’ve sat here
With a smile upon my face
Taking photos of this tree
As it stands in all it’s grace
I’ve had some lovely, magic moments
As the birds have stopped to feed
From the little tray that hangs near by
All filled with sweet bird seed.
1 August 2013 @ 2003hrs

My mother use to tell me a story about living in the woods.
She said during autumn the leaves fell to the grounds and they burn very good.
Her siblings and she would go hunting in the month of October.
The family would store the deer and rabbit meat not to go to the store.
Nature was harsh when it was cold.
When the snow or the freezing rain comes, the birds do not soar in the sky.
The ether would freeze the fouls.
The upper arctic is rigid air.
The birds fly south.
Nature in the winter can bring struggle and strife.
The beauty of the outside can affect life.
Save your money and do not fly high.
You are gambling your stability of sound body and mind.
Bitter Mother Nature is not to be denied.
The beauty of nature and winter signals an end of a productive year.
Plants cessation is seen.
Farmers have harvest crop.
Animals migrate to warmer climates.
All know Mother Nature in her mood swings.
Therefore, pay attention to your surroundings.
Respect Mother Nature and she will respect you.
However, the weather is onset.
The quiet weather sneaks upon us.
Therefore, things can become quite turbulent defining a Bitter Mother Nature’s region.
___________________________________________________|
Penned on May 20, 2014 12:30 A.M. EST!

The feeders were empty, dejected, forlorn.
The lady who filled them had suddenly gone.
Her time here now ended, she wakened no more:
Gone from her gardens, departed her door.
This little much mattered to birds on the wing,
With winter now over, well into the spring.
All busy with nesting, caught up in new life.
No hunger in summer, no cold, bitter strife.
New homes to be built: sturdy and staid.
Songs to be sung and eggs to be laid.
Sheltered and nurtured; the young ones appear.
A sure rite of passage in the spring of each year.
Fledglings near grown will be taught how to fly
And soar past the tree tops up into the sky.
They will learn of the hawk and its hunger for flesh:
Of wicked, sly felines that hide in the brush.
Then late summer grows weary and tired of play.
It goes to bed earlier and earlier each day.
The fall time all golden and valued the more;
Birds sense coming peril past winter’s cold door.
Those who remain for new season’s sharp sting,
Grow restless, uneasy, not choosing to sing.
Old feeders hang empty, no seed to be found . .
Below only barren, forbidding, cold ground.
Blue jays and the doves, all the species of finch,
Chickadees, titmice, now feel winter's pinch.
Woodpeckers, nuthatches, cardinals and crows,
Will all group together to face winter woes.
Then a morning arrives with white flakes in the air.
Frigid and stark; the day reeks of despair.
First jay to arrive at the earliest light,
Gives out a sharp cry to all others in flight.
There's someone out tending the feeders below,
Tamping the snow where the cracked corn will go.
And filling the hollow in that old rotten stump:
Sunflower, suet, dried fruit and some nuts.
Bleak landscape has kidnapped the scene down below,
But all’s right in the hemlock, as well as the snow.
New feeders abound, where old feeders once hung
And with someone to fill them, let the new winter come.

My, you’re brimming with eggs, oh singing robin redbreast,
Fly to the mulberry branch with your saffron yarn to build your nest.
And hello, mandarin butterfly, look how anxiously you flit,
Here and there until at last upon the elm branch you sit.
Look on the hickory branch, you can observe a predator stalk,
The neighborhood hawk will hoist his prey to the tower loft.
A squirrel launches from an overhead limb into midair,
It rattles loose an avalanche of snow on my scalp and in my hair.

Lovely winter bird
Perched so high
Sing a song
For you and I
Such breathtaking music
Filling the air
How could I ignore
This song you share
Each and everyday
I come to listen
Your voice to me
Has become my addiction
Even the cold wind
Could not make me go
I wouldn't want to miss
This gift you have bestowed
Again I will come
To see you tomorrow
To hear your joyous song
That melts away my sorrows

Tonight winter startled
It came unexpectedly
Few people walked
Below the gleam moon
Shivering beneath their fur coat
I stood trying to figure
A black contorted portrait
Drawed from the yellow dim lamp
On a cold brown dune
Which I stared
As they passed
Waving a friendly gesture
Greeting me with unknown tongue
Still I am naive
Longed for each nostalgic sweet sound of
My homestead, thus this cold
Consume my certain pause
Not far from the clustered bush
Also do heared a lone bird lark
My sigh and the whisper on that shade
Gone howling with desert breath

. . .
there is a chirping
in the leafless frozen woods
I hold out my hand
and cold icy feathers land
there is both a fear and awe
____________________
March 18, 2015
Tanka
For the contest, Tanka 2, sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
6th Place

The wolves race through the woods...
A melancholic night breathing...
The moon weeping its elegant light...
As I drown in the lake of uncertainty...
A prodigious night...
Procreating melancholy...
A deceiver at command...
Portraying images of the divine...
The nature decaying to the bizarre setting...
As the wolves howl at the night’s mystical descend...
And as my heart cries a disheartening reverie...
The river turns venomous at the cheerless call...
The wolves pursue the divine call...
The eerie wind deceives their ears...
Far ahead I see a shadow of the pure...
But as I approach...the shadow is razed by the prevalent obscurity...
The winter birds seem to be early...
Nesting in the putrefied tree...
The venomous river appears frozen...
As a chilling breeze stings the heart...
A prodigious night...
Procreating melancholy...
A deceiver at command...
Portraying images of the divine...
The last few hopes seem to deaden...
As a cloud seems to darken the elegant moon...
And the heart craves for her warmth...
As the flowers anticipate the monsoon...
Why is it that her radiant shadows appear?
When illumination ceases to exist...
A bird rests on my shoulder...
And sings mantras of eternal hope...
An assurance of support...
And guidance...as the melancholic night descends...
The wolves howl to the infinite sky...
...And the lamentation of a lost soul...
Overpowered by their howls...
As the melancholic fire burns on...
The lamentation of a lost soul...
Forever lost...
...And as I close my eyes...
The setting transforms to “heaven”
Where flowers are vivacious...
...And nature rejoicing the start of spring...
...As I lay in her arms...
The panorama vivid as ever...
A panorama...
That subsists within the broken heart...
And a last few dead branches...
The winter bird collects to complete its nest...
And now all is at rest...
Silence is what subsists eternally...
The lamentation of a torn heart
Ever so callous...
...As he putrefies eternally...
...In a Melancholic Blaze...

Bare,
Yet fair,
None can compare.
To the nude silver branches and barren expanses,
That the cool of winter doth bring.
Unless you equate the way the birds sing,
In the start of the fresh, blooming spring.
Or perhaps the warm air,
Filled with crickets’ prayer,
That’s found only in the summer’s afternoon glare.
But then there is the time of the harvest,
With leaves like the paint on the palette of an artist.
Such tender, splendor indeed, in each season is found,
For in Nature, beauty truly doth rise and abound.
Shawnee Doling-Tye 10/6/13

A tragic hero in the perennial play
here tomorrow, gone today
A mere shadow in the Western sky
such a long sojourn but a brief
goodbye,
The treetops whisk the opaque planetarium
as the poignant gyroscope rotates into
delirium,
Birds turn South, leaves turn red
like a flame that burns bright before growing
dead,
A call out, among the torrent
lost in the waves, wind, and
current
The cacophony has been muted
a silent status quo has been rooted,
What little remains for the stranded
lost and alone,
exploited and branded.